


Because I Love You

by kwhyloren



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9359267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwhyloren/pseuds/kwhyloren
Summary: A misunderstanding leads to Jumin feeling like he's not good enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request I decided to turn into full fledged fic because I really, really wanted to write some Jumin angst. Hope you guys enjoy it!

Jumin glances at you from across the table, the corners of his mouth tilting upward ever so slightly before his serious expression returns. A smile just for you. He insisted on not sitting beside you at this dinner party, mostly to keep himself from touching you. It was hard for him to hold his affections back, you knew, and even harder still to hold back his other urges.

 

_“More than that,” Jumin had said, “It's impolite to be showy at these kinds of events. If I touch you too much or hover around you, the corporate heads will think I'm attempting to show you off.”_

 

_You raised an eyebrow at this. “I thought you liked showing me off.”_

 

_That got a small, bemused smile from him. “Normally, yes...but I don't want them thinking you are merely a trophy wife. I want to include you in these things as much as I can, so that they know your competence in business affairs.”_

 

Like Jumin, you're head of your own business. Only, it's much smaller than C&R. Much, much smaller. It used to be an online shop that you ran by yourself, using what little web design you learned from your studies at the University to create a decent webpage. Your major had been business management, and you had always wanted to run your own shop. In all actuality, you had really wanted to go for the arts, but you knew you wanted something more than that. You had been crafting since you were little. Pottery, jewelry, even the occasional painting. It was something you had a knack for, and something you wanted to share with everyone.

 

For awhile, you did pretty well for yourself, working a small job as a secretary at an office while also finding time to create new items to sell, then place them on your site. It was difficult, but doable. After you stumbled across the RFA, and fell hopelessly in love with Jumin Han, everything changed. He loved your passion for your work and wanted to help you in any way he could. At some point, he invested in your small, budding store, commissioning you for a special line of food bowls for cats. It was a win-win, and brought so much attention to your artistry that your items began selling out within minutes of posting online. Eventually, it became too much for just you to be making the items. Thus, your business was born, and your dream realized.

 

It's been a year since then and you still can't believe how lucky you are...married to the love of your life and running your own business.

 

A woman's voice drags you from your thoughts. “So, Mr. Han, how long have you two been married?”

 

Your husband dabs his mouth with a napkin, swallowing the piece of steak he'd been chewing. “Approximately eight months.”

 

“Ah, so you're newlyweds, then. That makes sense. Last time I saw you, she wasn't with you.”

 

Jumin nods. “Yes, it's been some time since we've been able to meet.”

 

“It has indeed,” the woman's husband replies, bringing himself abruptly into the conversation. “It's been too long since I've done any business with C&R. I think it's time for a change.”

 

Jumin's expression remains the same, but you can see the glint of triumph in his eyes. His planning of the dinner party has worked to his favor, as he hoped it would. “Is that so? I would be happy to do business with you again, Mr. Zhang.”

 

“We can discuss terms after the meal. I do hate doing business at the table. Gives me indigestion.”

 

“Of course. I have a study we can retire to afterwards. Perhaps we could discuss matters over a glass of wine?”

 

Mr. Zhang looks thoughtful, rubbing his greying goatee with his fingers. “Mm...I'm more of a brandy man, myself.”

 

Jumin doesn't miss a beat. “Brandy can be arranged. I'll have some brought up.”

 

The man's eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Excellent.”

 

Your husband returns the smile, politely. The rest of the dinner goes on without much event. Mr. Zhang and Jumin talk about their business experiences, and what all they've been working on since the last time the companies talked. You zone out a little bit, only bringing yourself back to make small talk with Mrs. Zhang every once and awhile.

 

When dinner ends, you give Jumin a reassuring 'good luck' smile before sitting down in the living room with the chairman's wife. You converse about many things, mostly talking about what great feats your husbands has accomplished. At some point, the conversation moves on to more personal matters, after the both of you feel more comfortable with each other. You had just ended a conversation about silly habits your husbands have and laughing about it when she finally changes the subject.

 

“So you run your own business, yes?” She asks, looking intrigued.

 

“Yes, I do. It was a little bit of a hassle at first, but Jumin helped me get on my feet.” You smile at her.

 

“Ah, so that's how you two met? I read that he commissioned you for the Fine China for Glorious Cats project.”

 

“Yes-- he did commision me, but we knew each other beforehand. Have you heard of the RFA?”

 

Her eyes light up. “I have! You were a part of it as well as him, then, hm? That's interesting.”

 

You let out a small laugh. “Yes, it was interesting. I'm happy to have met him.”

 

“You were lucky, then, to have connections to him. Your business may have not made it in this economy, unfortunately, if he hadn't have stepped in.”

 

You blink, taking in her words. “Yes, I suppose I was lucky.”

 

The door to the study opens. You don't think much of it, you're both just making casual conversation. It's okay if they hear it.

 

“I wonder, then...did the both of you marry for business reasons? It's not uncommon.”

 

You're slightly taken aback. “No, it wasn't for business reasons. I can say, though, that my marriage has definitely given me the funds and publicity for my business to be successful.”

 

“That it has...and a lot of fine jewelry too, no doubt.” She laughs, glancing towards her husband. “Isn't that right, dear?”

 

He lets out a boisterous laugh. You can tell he's been at the brandy. “Of course!”

 

Jumin's oddly quiet. You glance at him, unable to read his expression.

 

She turns back to you, shaking her head. “He never stops, this one. If we were to bring all of my jewelry onto a cruise, the ship would surely sink from the weight.”

 

You laugh for the sake of being polite. “Well, that's impressive. Jumin does buy me jewelry, but it's not that excessive. Not yet, at least.”

 

“'Not yet', she says!” Mr. Zhang lets out another booming laugh. “Just you wait, then. It'll happen. When you have as much money as we do, doting on your wife becomes second nature!”

 

“Oh, stop.” Mrs. Zhang giggles. “Now you're just showing off. Although, I'm not complaining. Being doted on is not at all unpleasant.”

 

“That's true.” You say, sparing another glance at your husband.

 

“You've been awfully quiet, Mr. Han. Is something the matter? Did I spoil your secret plan to buy your wife expensive jewelry for your upcoming anniversary?” Mr. Zhang asks, not unkindly.

 

Jumin smiles, but it's a fake one. You wonder if one of them has said something that's rubbed him the wrong way. “Not at all. Jewelry was only the first gift. The others will still be a surprise.”

 

Mrs. Zhang has the grace to blush. “Oh my! I see why you married him, my dear. His abundance of charm matches his riches.”

 

“Yes, I know. He's not stopped charming me since.” You reply, smiling a little at Jumin.

 

His expression doesn't budge. _So something is bothering him_ , you think, puzzled. Did the deal not go well? No, that's impossible. Mr. Zhang is much too happy-- and drunk --for it to have gone badly. Have you done something wrong...?

 

“Ah...young love. Cherish it now, you two. You'll be as old as us before you know it, right dear?”

 

Mr. Zhang grunts in agreement. “Quite right! Enjoy your youth! And in the meantime, Mr. Han, I look forward to our business arrangement.”

 

Jumin nods. “As do I. Shall I call for your driver?”

 

“Yes, that would be appreciated, thank you. My husband's had much too much to drink. We should get home before he falls asleep standing up.” Mrs. Zhang gets up, smiling.

 

“Bah, that was only one time...” Mr. Zhang mutters.

 

When their driver finally arrives, Jumin sees them to their car. You stay behind, retreating into the bedroom to change into something more comfortable. The red dress Jumin had bought you for the dinner was beautiful, but it hugged your waist and thighs snugly, making you feel like you couldn't walk or sit properly after a while. You decide on sweatpants and a soft tee shirt-- the one with the cats on it that he got you for Christmas. Afterwards, you head back into the living room to curl up on your favorite chair.

 

It's another fifteen minutes until Jumin comes back. He walks silently into the apartment, almost like a ghost, walking briskly past you and toward the bedroom without a word. Worry begins to rise in your chest. Normally, after an event, Jumin can't get his hands off you once he has you alone again. He's always bringing you into his arms, running his hands down your back, through your hair. Kissing you forcefully, marking you with his mouth to make sure you know how much he missed being able to touch you, to claim you as his own. Not this time.

 

You have done something wrong. That has to be it. If it was anything else, he would have picked you up off the chair and sat down with you in his lap to talk about what was bothering him. He always talks to you when something's bothering him...except when the something that's bothering him is a someone-- and that someone is you.

 

Slowly, you get off the chair, taking hesitant steps towards the bedroom. You can hear him opening drawers. He must be getting changed. You stop when you realize the door is shut. A small sigh leaves you. This is how any fight of yours always starts. He shuts you out. Closes off rooms, then closes off himself. Silent, brooding...until you finally bother him one too many times. He rarely yells, but you would rather him yell as opposed to what he _does_ do. His eyes grow dark and his voice gets slightly louder than normal, blunt and accusing. He tells you what you've done wrong. He tells you why he's upset and then, instead of talking it out, he walks out, off to another room to shut himself off. It's not till a few hours later when you've let him cool off that he opens the door to the room he's in, signaling that he's ready to talk. It's then that you make up and apologize. Or, if he's done talking, you make it up with sex. Somehow you don't think this one will end with the latter.

 

You knock on the door, waiting a few moments for a reply. It's silent. Another drawer closes inside the room.

 

“Jumin...?” You venture, hoping that you're wrong about him being mad at you and that he'll answer.

 

He doesn't. You open the door anyway, not entirely up for playing the waiting game. If he's angry, you want to know why now and not later. You make it a few steps into the room before he's looking at you, standing there with his button-up shirt half off, legs clad in blue plaid loungewear. His gaze is cold, but there's pain in those grey eyes. The realization hits you. You've not made him angry. You've hurt him. But...how? Was it the nonsense conversation with Mrs. Zhang?

 

“Are you...alright, dear?” You ask hesitantly. He loves being called that, perhaps it will calm him down, if only a little. He finishes taking off his shirt and lets it fall in a heap on the floor.

 

“Far from it, actually.” His tone is matter-of-fact. He's pretending to be indifferent, but you can hear the hurt in his tone. His voice is shaky, and it's only ever shaky when he's been pretty messed up.

 

“Why...?” You ask, taking a few steps toward him.

 

“Tell me, were you going to reveal your true intentions to me?” He asks, eyes focusing on something at the other end of the room before he turns his gaze to you. “Or did Mrs. Zhang blow your cover?”

 

You stop in your tracks, startled. “What?”

 

“Don't play coy with me. I heard the two of you talking.” His eyes have hardened, he's closed himself off to you now, you can't tell how he's feeling. The old walls have come up.

 

“I'm not...I don't know what you mean. Are you talking about what Mrs. Zhang said?”

 

“I'm talking about what _you_ said.”

 

Betrayal. You're certain you heard it in his tone. What was it that you said that might have lead him to feel that way? You run over the conversation in your head, most of it sounding perfectly harmless to you. Your eyebrows furrow.

 

“About...you not buying me a lot of jewelry yet?” You guess.

 

He's quiet. His fists clench at his side, muscles tensing. “Stop shitting around. You know what I'm talking about, there's no need to feign ignorance anymore.”

 

Whatever it is, it's got him shaken up. You frown. “Jumin, I...I'm not pretending, I really don't know what you're talking about.”

 

He lets out a long, shaky sigh. His fists unclench, hands relaxing. “I want the whole truth. Now. If you refuse, I'll make the arrangements for our divorce. If you comply...I'll consider drawing up a contract to make sure this marriage is useful for both of us.”

 

It feels like all the wind's been knocked out of you. _Divorce?_ Not even when he was furious did Jumin throw around that word. It was too much of something his father would do and, though he loves him, it's one of his worst fears. Becoming his father. If he's talking about a divorce, then this is more serious than you previously imagined. _What the hell did I say?_

 

“I-I don't understand...divorce? Why would you--”

 

“Are you going to tell me the truth or not?” He's Mr. Han again. The tone, the gaze...he's as closed off to you as the day you first met him.

 

“I...” You're not getting anywhere. Maybe if he could tell you what it is you said, you can convince him of your innocence. “What part of what I said are you talking about?”

 

“Do you truly want me to repeat it? Is it enjoyable to you to watch me suffer?”

 

Your heart thumps painfully in your chest. “No! Jumin, I--”

 

“For _years_ I turned down women who wished to be with me because I knew they were all the same. I thought you were different. I thought that you truly loved me, but I suppose I should have known. I'm good for nothing but my money and connections, isn't that right?”

 

Your eyes widen and suddenly it hits you. _My marriage has definitely given me the funds and publicity for my business to be successful._ Was that it? Does he think.--?!

 

“You married me because you knew that your business would never succeed on its own. You needed a corporate influence. You needed a man with money whom you could manipulate into investing into your company. The worst part of it is, had you only asked, I would have donated money. Instead you...you trick me into loving you so that I become blind, then marry me so that you'll have a constant access to my money.”

 

Your throat tightens with tears. Does he really think so little of you? Of himself? You know he's always been insecure, he told you that much himself. No one sees him for him. They take one look at him and see money, power-- opportunity. Even he sees it. He can't see how truly wonderful he is...how deeply he loves or how he cares enough about his friends to do anything in his power to help. He's vulnerable, it's why he built so many walls around his heart. It's why it took you months to convince him how much you loved him. How can he think that was all a lie?

 

“Do you...do you really believe that? That I'm capable of doing something like that...?” Your voice is cracking, tears threatening to spill over.

 

He hesitates for a second, then glances away from you, unsure. His walls are faltering. “I don't know what to believe anymore.”

 

“Jumin...” You whisper, desperate. “I love you.”

 

He flinches and closes his eyes, brows furrowing. “Stop. Don't say that to me.”

 

“I do, I--”

 

“You don't mean it.”

 

“Of course I do! I--”

 

“You don't. It's a lie.”

 

“Jumin, please just listen to me--”

 

He slams his right fist into the wall, only he's too far forward and hits the mirror instead, shattering it. A gasp leaves him and he pulls his hand away fast, blood welling around his knuckles and dripping down his hand. It plops thickly onto the white carpet, staining where it touches crimson. Fear rises within you.

 

“Jumin!” You rush over, hands moving to reach for his injured hand, wanting to assess the damage.

 

He pulls it away from you, toward his chest. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

 

Your eyes widen slightly before you set your expression. “Jumin, let me see.”

 

“No.” His gaze returns to his hand, his stoic look faltering for a moment. You can see his hands shaking. He’s not fine, you know that. It must hurt horribly, but he’s still too stubborn to let you help.

 

You’re not going to let him do this to himself. You let out an exasperated huff and move closer to him anyway, ignoring his protests. When your hand grasps his arm, he doesn’t fight you, and you’re finally able to pull his hand towards you to take a look.

 

His knuckles are slowly turning purple from the bruising, a few of them are bleeding, the skin having split from the impact. Then there’s the shards of glass. Some are small, slightly embedded in his skin, but the deep gash on the top of his hand must have been caused by a larger shard. You glance at the floor and see it, tip tinged red. It must have cut his hand as he was pulling it away. Your gaze moves back to your husband.

 

“We need to clean this up, it’s bleeding pretty badly,” you say.

 

Surprisingly, he obliges, allowing you to see him to the living room. He sits down in one of the chairs when you ask him to, expression unreadable. You return from the bathroom with all the medical supplies you own, frowning when you see him. He’s stoic, like a statue, sitting there unmoving, gaze pinned on his bloodied hand. Despite that, there’s a sadness about him, and as you get closer to kneel down in front of the chair, you spot the slight downward curve of his mouth.

 

“This will...probably hurt,” you tell him, watching his eyes.

 

Their grey depths betray a hint of pain before he closes them, eyebrows furrowing. “I know.”

 

You bite your lip, taking a deep breath before you pick up the tweezers, dipping them in rubbing alcohol to sterilize them. Your hand’s shaking when you move to pull out the first shard. He grunts when it comes out, other hand squeezing the arm of the chair. It’s an ordeal, taking each shard out, but there’s not too many of them, and when you’re done, he sighs shakily in relief. You gulp. It hasn’t gotten to the worst part yet.

 

“I’ll have to clean them with the rubbing alcohol. It’ll sting pretty badly. Are you ready for that…?” You ask, sneaking a glance up at him.

 

His eyes are half open, gaze fixed on you. He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks again, there’s a tone to his voice that makes your heart wrench with sadness. He sounds so defeated. “Yes. Don’t worry about me, just go through with it.”

 

He’s upset with himself, now, not you. It’s obvious, and it makes your heart hurt. You know his insecurities must have caused him to think that you only married him for his money. It wasn’t that he thought little of you, but that he thought little of himself, you’re sure of it.

 

When you press the soaked paper towel on his wounds, he gasps, other hand gripping the arm of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white. His breathing is a little ragged. You wonder if he’s ever hurt himself like this before. It doesn’t seem like it.

 

You’re concentrating on cleaning up the large scratch on his hand when he speaks to you again, voice strained. “It was wrong of me to accuse you.”

 

You hesitate slightly, before continuing your work. “It’s alright, I understand how you could have seen it like that.”

 

In a moment, you feel his fingers under your chin, and he tilts your head upward to look at him. He looks pained, distraught with his previous actions.

 

“No, it’s not. I questioned your love for me...how can you forgive me for that so easily?”

 

“Because I love you.” It’s a simple answer, but it’s true. Of course his words hurt you, but, looking into his eyes now, you can tell he hates himself for saying those things.

 

“How can you love me when I’m like this?” His voice lowers to almost a whisper. “How can you love me at all?”

 

It’s not common that he lets himself come apart in front of you. Normally, if he’s having a rough day, or if he feels complicated, he’ll be visibly upset, but he won’t talk. He’ll just hold you in his arms silently, or lay down beside you, listening to your heart beating to ease his aching heart. Talking is terrifying to him, you think. Those old fears must keep him from lowering his walls all the way, even for you. If he opens up too much, someone may take advantage of him.

 

“Let’s see…” you start, bringing one of your hands up to lightly grasp the one he placed under your chin. “You care deeply for your friends, and you’ll go out of your way to make sure they’re safe and happy. You’re passionate about your work and about your projects…and about me. You love with everything you are and sometimes you love so much that it makes you feel vulnerable. You may build up walls and doubt people sometimes, but that’s only normal. What matters is that you still go on loving despite that doubt.”

 

You gently pull the hand you’re holding to you lips, planting a kiss on his knuckles. “And you do. You love me. You just got scared, that’s all. I understand.”

 

His hand is shaking. You give it another kiss before letting it go, returning your attention to his injured hand. It started bleeding again while you two were talking. You dab at it a few more times with the towel before moving to get the gauze.

 

“It is...hard for me to see myself like you do, ______.” His voice is quiet, restrained. It sounds like he’s holding back tears. “Mostly, I just believe what the others say about me.”

 

You frown, beginning to bandage his hand with the gauze. “The others don’t know you like I do. They don’t give you any chance to be yourself.”

 

“ _I_ don’t give them any chance to see my true self.” He corrects, sighing.

 

“Don’t blame yourself for that. You’ve been hurt before, it’s only natural to put up defenses after you’ve been hurt.”

 

“I...reacted the way I did to you because I’m still having a hard time believing that you’re my wife.” He pauses for a moment, probably trying to find the words. “You’re three times the person that I could ever be and yet...you chose me. The way I see it...I’m only worth marrying for my money.”

 

You stop bandaging for a second to look up at him, about to chastise him for talking about himself like that, but the words die in your throat when you see his face. Slow, silent tears are making trails down his cheeks. The torment in his eyes is almost unbearable to look at.

 

“Jumin…” you whisper, feeling like your heart’s being torn to pieces.

 

He gives you a small, but sad, smile. “My company is worth more than I am.”

 

No. _No_. You can’t let him do this to himself. He’s so wrong about himself, but he can’t see it. You wish so much you could make him see how much he means to you. If you could just let him feel your emotions towards him for even a second, he’d know, but it’s impossible. There has to be some other way.

 

You reach your hands up to cup his cheeks, looking him dead in the eyes, lip quivering with emotion. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re worth the _world_ to me. If you lost all of your money tomorrow and we were thrown into the streets, I would stay with you. Even if we wandered like that with nothing to our names but each other for the rest of our lives, I’d _still_ stay with you, until the very end.”

 

He swallows, uninjured hand moving to rest on top of yours, squeezing it lightly. You’re not done. You want him to understand-- _need_ him to understand.

 

“When you asked me to marry you, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Do you have any idea how _happy_ you make me, Jumin? When I’m with you, it feels like everything is right with the world, and I feel whole. You cherish me like no one ever has...like no one ever will again. I will love you for the rest of my days, and beyond. So please... _please_ , Jumin...don’t think so little of yourself.”

 

You can feel the wetness of his tears against your hands. He’s smiling now, still small like before, but no longer sad.

 

“I love you so much, ____.” He leans his face down towards yours, whispering. “So much.”

 

You close your eyes as his lips meet yours. Even after so long, it still gives you butterflies when he kisses you. His kisses are always so fervent, so telling of his deep emotions towards you. He kisses you like he hasn’t seen you in years, like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. They’re never half-hearted, never routine. Jumin loves with his whole heart-- loves _you_ with his whole heart, and you’re so happy that he’s yours, and that you’re his.

 

When he finally breaks the kiss, you feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You two stare into each other’s eyes for a moment longer before you give him a smile and turn your gaze back to his hand to finish bandaging it.

 

“I will try to see myself as you see me.” He says. “I promise.”

 

You hold his injured hand in yours, gently smoothing your hand over the bandages. “I’m glad.”

 

There’s a small meow from the other side of the room. Elizabeth the Third pads over to both of you, hopping up on Jumin’s lap. She must have hid in another room when she heard the yelling earlier. She plops herself down, meowing again, giving his bandaged hand a lick. You smile and run your hand through her silky white fur.

 

“Elizabeth is glad, too,” you add.

 

“So am I.” Jumin replies, kissing your head.


End file.
